


Vault 11

by knives4cash



Series: A Courier of Creation [1]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Choose Your Own Character, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 05:03:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knives4cash/pseuds/knives4cash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Insert your own Courier. Returning from a trip to Big Mountain, the Courier brings along Cassidy to Vault 11 to discover what happened to a fire team of NCR troops that went in about 8 years ago and never came back. Four vault dwellers' remains and a holotape greet them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vault 11

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This story is for those who are familiar with the Fallout: NV universe. If you don't know anything about it, why are you reading this?
> 
> I wrote this story for my American Literature short story. So if anything complicated (like Pip-boy/the Pimp-boy 3 Billion) sounds simplified, understand that it's for a lady that knows nothing about the FNV universe.
> 
> Now for those who are familiar with the FNV universe, you'll find that you, the reader, can read the Courier as a male or female. Weapons and other components are accurately labeled.
> 
> For those who like to know every, little detail about every, little component of the FNV universe, like myself, you'll find that there are some changes to the Vault 11 quest. The changes were made, at the time, to ensure that there was no accusations of plagiarism. You'll also find that with the exception of Hudson, Cassidy, and the Courier, all of the names have been changed. (I pretty much took Hudson straight out of Aliens and threw him into the FNV universe).

Two figures appeared on the horizon. Cassidy, a light-skinned woman in her thirties; wore a cowboy hat that covered her head of red hair, brown coat, and blue jeans. She had a hunting rifle in her left hand and whiskey bottle in her right, the Courier's Sturdy Caravan Shotgun strapped to her back with an ammunitions bag strapped to her waist.

The Courier, decked out in black camouflage Brotherhood Power Armor and carrying God knows how many weapons, marched along side her. Both walked slowly, mostly because one of them was carrying about 80 pounds of weapons, ammunition, and a various assortment of equipment.

The Courier managed to ask while trying to avoid the hot sun that was inevitably heating up the armor being worn, "Am I the only one burning alive?"

Seeming unaffected by the heat and taking a swig from her whiskey bottle, Cassidy responded, "You were shot in the head, medically declared dead, brought back to life by a nobody doctor, and you're complaining about the temperature of a wasteland that survived nuclear bombardment? Shouldn't you be grateful for a second chance at life?"

Sweat clung to the Courier's skin, desperately trying to escape the impregnable suit of armor. The Courier responded, "I was able to prove that the Van Graffs were responsible for the destruction of your caravan company, and yet you complain every time we run out of alcohol."

"That's why I like to make my own when you're not using all that Salient Green to stockpile a mountain of stims," Cassidy responded with wit. "Although," she added while eyeing up her companion's armor, "It might help if you'd sell that Power Armor. I know I wouldn't want to walk around in a steel oven."

Seeming to have forgotten about being cooked alive, the Courier asked in shock, "This is the strongest kind of armor in the entire wasteland, and you want me to sell it? I had to get a Brotherhood Paladin to train me on how to wear it! It would take nothing short of thermite to melt a hole through this armor!"

"Well excuse me for offering a solution to your complaint," Cassidy said as she rolled her eyes and took another swig from her whiskey bottle. "I certainly don't mind having an indestructible steel giant to do all the shooting for me."

The Courier sarcastically replied, "I feel so much better about the company I keep."

Maintaining their slow pace down the destroyed highway, Cassidy asked, "Speaking of invincibility, with your NCR alliance, Hoover Dam and New Vegas eternally in your debt, and an army of Securitron Mark IIs at your disposal, why aren't we at the Lucky 38, drinking away the rest of our lives while your army expands the boarders of your empire?" She idly swished the contents of her bottle around. "Actually, I think I'd like living in Zion better."

Scoffing, the Courier clarified, "I'm not expanding my so-called 'empire'. I'm merely using my available forces to scavenge the supplies necessary for the project."

Cassidy took a swig of her whiskey. "Which has to be the craziest project anyone's ever thought of." She offered her companion the bottle. "You sure you never drank?"

The Courier declined the bottle. "Maybe I did before Goodsprings, but that person died in that grave. I'm a new person, and the new me doesn't drink."

Taking another swig, Cassidy said, "Whatever you say, Doctor Do-Everything."

Chuckling at the remark, the Courier finished, "I wouldn't be content with drinking away the rest of my life. I have to travel, be aware, be alive."

Cassidy sighed in exasperation, "I can't wait to see you in your old age, sitting on a rocking chair with a shotgun and shouting at some salesman to get off your privately owned Lucky 38 or Sierra Madre." She finished off the bottle. "You still want to hoard empty bottles for that Sink lady?"

"Please and thank you."

Shrugging, Cassidy handed the bottle to her companion, who took it without hesitation.

After a shot while, Cassidy started to ask, "So about this little expedition. Where are we going? I remember you dragging me out of the Lucky 38 at, like, 5 in the morning. You also said something about a vault?"

The Courier answered, "We're going to Vault 11."

"And why?" continued Cassidy.

"For starters, I can't have you dying of alcohol poisoning in the prime of your youth. But more importantly, the NCR sent a squad of soldiers to try to clear the vault for a salvage team."

"They 'tried'? What stopped them?"

"I don't know. The squad never came back. After losing four well-trained, well-armed soldiers, the superiors decided that they wouldn't risk another squad, not with the war with Caesar's Legion."

The two turned off of the highway and approached a cave. Cassidy shouldered her Hunting Rifle. "So what are we going to do?"

The Courier unholstered Maria from their arsenal of weapons and calmly said, "We get into the vault, see what happened to the soldiers, and find out what the vault's unique living standards were."

"And if the giant, steel, nuclear-warhead proof door is shut?"

"Considering that those soldiers never came back, I'm fairly certain that the door's open. But in case it isn't, I brought C4 with me."

"And what about salvage?" Cassidy positioned herself in front of the door and promptly aimed down her sights. The Courier moved to the side and opened the door.

Once Cassidy gave the all clear, the Courier moved in and answered, "The NCR military has a no-touch policy. The soldiers wouldn't have touched a thing if they weren't completely certain that the vault was secure. And even if it was, they're suppose to let the salvage teams do the salvaging."

"Alright", Cassidy continued her questioning as she followed the Courier through the tunnel. "So what about these 'unique living standards'?"

The Courier answered, "Each vault had a different way of being run, except for Vault 3 which was one of the few vaults that belonged to the 'control group'."

The Courier and Cassidy stopped in front of the skeletal remains of charcoaled bark-scorpions lying before them.

"You sure do know how to pick 'em", Cassidy commented, looking at the remains of what looked like three dozen bark-scorpions, all burned to a crisp.

The Courier remarked, "Vault 34 was literally a can of radiation. I had to clear out that vault in a damned spacesuit that offers zero protection against rabid ghouls glowing green with radiation. Would you rather have accompanied me on THAT expedition?"

Cassidy imagined her companion comically attempting to run away from a group of the once-humans, while being weighed down by an enormous white suit with a giant, golden fishbowl on the head. Snickering to herself, she replied, "I'll pass, thank you." She asked, "Speaking of Vault 3, I know you like using it as your own personal supply depot and all, but what happens if NCR finds out you're storing Securitrions and other shit there?"

Lowering their weapons, the two squeezed by Vault 11's partially opened door. It was too dark to see anything clearly.

"Hold on," the Courier mumbled, while holstering Maria. The Pimp-Boy's light illuminated the room.

The mystery began as they were greeted by four human skeletons strewn about the floor of the dimly lit, rusty room and accompanied by a single 10mm pistol.

Cassidy muttered, "I'm guessing we found our squad."

"I don't think so." The Courier observed, "No armor. Only a single pistol. Not enough weapons and equipment. These have to be vault dwellers."

"You think the bark-scorpions had something to do with this?" Cassidy remarked, "I know they sting like hell, but you'd have to be pretty stupid to actually get killed by them."

The Courier crouched and began to examine the skeletons. "I don't think bark-scorpions killed them. This one has a bullet hole in its skull."

Leaning her Hunting Rifle against the wall, Cassidy knelt down and began to examine another skeleton. "So does this one," she said.

"And this one… and THIS one." The Courier remarked.

Cassidy picked up the pistol. "Look at this," she said, while unloading it. "Four bullets are missing from the clip."

"Suicide." The Courier muttered.

Cassidy noticed a disk-shaped object among the bones of the third skeleton. She picked it up and asked, "This is a holotape, right?"

The Courier extended an arm. "Let's see what it says."

She handed the disk to the Courier who eagerly inserted it into the comically golden device. A very grim conversation played.

A man's voice was the first to speak, "Are we really going to do this? It's open; we could just leave."

A woman's voice responded, "I couldn't, not after that."

A second man's voice with a depressed manner said, "We don't deserve to leave."

The first man said, "A 'shining example', that's what it called us… but we WERE; we did what we were supposed to do! Anybody would have done what we did!"

The woman responded, "You ask me, that's exactly the problem. Now, let's get on with this."

The second man responded, "I'll do it."

The first man, starting to panic, said, "Wait! Wait! People should know about this! They could learn from it!"

A third man's voice said, "Don't worry, they will; I've made sure of that."

The second man responded, "If there's anyone out there at all, I hope they never have to find out. Ready, Stephen?"

The third man's voice answered, "Yeah."

The first man shouted, "No! No! Wait!"

Three gun shots interrupted the first man's voice. Three "thuds" were heard, followed by the sound of someone strongly inhaling. "God forgive is." Then a fourth gunshot was heard, followed by a fourth body hitting the floor.

The holotape stopped.

"The hell was that all about?" asked Cassidy.

Unholstering Maria, The Courier stood up and said, "Standard Vault-Tech Protocol dictates that vault dwellers are to go outside and establish contact when the vault door can be opened safely."

"So why would they kill themselves?" Cassidy recalled as she grabbed her rifle and got up, "You heard the first guy. The vault door was opened; they could have left."

"That explains how the NCR troops got in." The Courier said while scanning the rest of the room. "Maybe Kate or Nate did it."

Cassidy began to ask what that meant, but she saw that the Courier was pointing to a faded poster on the wall that said, "I hate Nate" with the 'N' crossed out and a 'K' written above it.

"That looks like something you'd see in a political campaign," Cassidy noted. "But you wouldn't just flat out say you hated someone."

The courier interrupted, "Let's get going; I'm sure that we'll find some answers in the vault's mainframe."

"The vault's mainframe?"

"It's like a giant diary that the vault-dwellers can all write in. Everything that could ever be considered important is supposed to be catalogued there, births, deaths, medical cases, etcetera."

The pair continued into the next room, which appeared to be the main room of the vault. The only sources of light were the Courier's Pip-boy stove light that illuminated the room and a few red and yellowy lit buttons which marked the door controls. The walls and floors were rusted; moth-eaten couches and a few metal chairs were strewn about.

Looking around, the Courier muttered, "Main power must have gone out years ago. Auxiliary power should still be on though, judging by how the door controls are still lit, which means that the mainframe is still online."

The central chamber split off into three sections: The men's dorms, the women's dorms, and a third section titled 'Admin'.

"Which one?" Cassidy asked, rifle shouldered.

The Courier replied, "Admin. The NCR troops would go there to secure the vault. We can loot the dorms later."

The Courier led and Cassidy followed. Down the narrow hallway, posters littered the wall. Some said, "I hate Nate". Others said, "Haley is a known adulterer and communist! Vote Haley as vault overseer!" One that had fallen onto the floor said, "Don't vote Glover! His family needs him! Vote Nate Stone for vault-overseer!"

"What happened here?" the Courier asked in awe and confusion, Maria still held ready. "Why would the vault dwellers elect people that they despised as vault overseer?"

The two continued their slow walk down the cold, dimly lit, rusted, and dank hallway. The Courier stopped and entered a side room that had two skeletons on operating tables, medicine cabinets barely hanging on the walls, a single painting of a man in blue clothing and blond hair giving a thumbs up, and first aid boxes scattered about.

"Must've been the medical bay," the Courier remarked.

Cassidy, who hadn't expected the detour but was delighted at the prospect of quenching her alcoholic thirst, began searching the medicine cabinets. "You'd think that we'd have run into something hostile by now."

"You've got a point." Seeing a terminal at a desk, the Courier sat down and began 'scrubbing duds', hacking the terminal. After some typing and the sound of the terminal unlocking, the Courier announced, "I'm in."

Cassidy nodded while becoming frustrated at the lack of spoils to loot. "Good for you, Doctor Do Everything Perfectly."

The terminal revealed two pieces of data: A message titled, "Medical Logs", and another titled, "Overseer Order 745". The Courier clicked on the one that read, "Medical Logs".

The Courier began to read the last entry aloud, "Two new patients, Slater Ward and Peter Hoff. Slater Ward, dead on second hour."

Cassidy interrupted, "Sucks to be him."

The Courier nodded in agreement and continued reading, "Peter Hoff, still alive, toughest son of a bitch I ever saw. Both received multiple 9mm bullets in chest in shootout with security. Patient Peter Hoff requested holotape from Pip-boy be copied and temporarily heldfor a Stephen Dillard, while original copy be wiped. Will hold in wall safe."

"Before you start tearing the place apart", Cassidy mentioned, "The wall safe is probably behind the only painting in this room."

The now dumbstruck Courier said, "I'm rather impressed that you know me so well."

Cassidy stared at her companion and scoffed. "With all the shit you've dragged us through, I'm rather impressed that you haven't gotten any of us killed."

Having tossed the painting of the man aside, the Courier began working the lock with the usual bobby pin and screw-driver. With the sound of a click, the safe opened, revealing the prized holotape, a few caps, and a bottle with the title "Evan Zinger Ale".

"I'll take that," Cassidy said as she swiped the bottle right out of the safe.

The Courier observed, "I've never even heard of that brand. And how many years has it been sitting there anyway?"

Cassidy, having already uncorked the bottle and trying to ignore the last part of her companion's question, examined the bottle and replied, "It's a…Can-add-ian brand." She took a swig from the bottle and said, "Pretty damned good."

"You say that about every bottle."

"Whatever, let's just see if the disk says anything." Cassidy said as the Courier inserted the disk into the Pip-boy.

A man's voice played, "She can't do this!"

A second man's voice responded, "It's done; we're done."

The first man retorted, "Nothing's done!"

The second man said, "She's got the authority. The only thing she can't do is change her own fate. Nothing says she can't change the selection process for future overseers."

The first man responded, "I say she can't!"

The second man said, "You shouldn't have toyed with her like that, Slater."

The first man, presumably Slater, retorted, "We still have the majority, Peter."

The second man, obviously Peter, sighed, "We don't vote for anything anymore."

Slater said, "I'm not talking about voting."

"What then," Peter asked sarcastically, "You wanna have a sit-in? A hunger strike?"

"Not exactly."

"Maybe march into her office with torches and pitchforks?"

"Yes."

"Slater, all we have to do is wait 'till someone from our bloc gets picked as overseer, then we have them change the law back."

"There won't BE any blocs when the new overseer is picked tomorrow! Everyone's going

to move one! And when they do, who knows if we'll still be in the majority?"

"WE can hold the bloc together."

"You don't know that. Besides, what if the computer picks you? What if it picks me?"

"And your solution is to start shooting?"

"Not if we don't have to. Look, we arm up. Go to the lower floors. Take up the strategic

targets: power, food, water, just until she turns authority over to us."

"The other blocs won't support it. They're tired of us having the power."

"We don't NEED them! We have the majority!"

"This isn't a vote, Slater. They'll fight back."

"They've never had the nerve."

There was a brief silence, then Peter responded in a reluctant tone, "Hell of a way to test it."

The recording stopped.

Cassidy, having sat herself on one of the decaying, moth-eaten couches while re-corking the ale, asked, "What now?"

The Courier turned back to the terminal and answered, "We find out what Overseer order 745 is."

The Courier began to read aloud, "Effective immediately, the traditional selection process for overseer is hereby ended. In lieu of a yearly election, a citizen will be chosen one month prior to the start of his or her term with our mainframe's random number generator, ensuring complete impartiality and fairness. Katharine Stone, Vault Overseer".

"So she destroyed the voting process." Cassidy began, "But why? Why would she want to get rid of elections and just pick a person as overseer at random?"

"I'm guessing that nobody wanted to be the overseer", the Courier said. "If no one wanted to be the overseer, why force them? No one said that you HAD to have an overseer to run a vault."

Cassidy stood up and said, "Well unless you can get anything else out of that terminal, I vote we get going."

The Courier nodded in agreement and followed Cassidy out of the medical bay.

"Great." Cassidy shouldered her rifle as she stepped aside waiting for the Courier to lead the way with the Pimp-Boy light, "What now?"

The Courier took point, illuminating the hallway again, and said, "This whole thing seems to be based around the overseer; let's head to the overseer's office first and see what we can find, then we'll head down to the lower levels and find the mainframe."

"And what about the missing NCR squad? We haven't seen a single trace of them since we've been down here."

"I doubt that all four of them would just abandon their mission. They have to be down here."

The duet made their way to the Overseer's office. Along the way, they were met by corpses, dozens of them. A few were strewn about the hallway that the Courier led Cassidy through. They came to an entrance with a sign marked, "Cafeteria". The Courier illuminated the room with the Pip-boy stove light and revealed a few more dozen. Make-shift barricades littered the room; sandbag walls about three feet tall were punched full of holes; over-turned tables, revealing similar fates, were lined up in a desperate attempt to block bullets.

"Incredible", Cassidy murmured, "It looks like a war zone down here."

"Even in a time where they knew that they were the last hope for mankind", the Courier began, "They still managed to find SOMETHING to kill each other over."

Cassidy began to enter the cafeteria, but the Courier's arm stopped her.

The Courier asked, "Do you really have to loot them?"

Puzzled, Cassidy responded, "Why wouldn't we?"

"We shouldn't disturb this scene. Think about what it represents. A civil war among two-hundred human beings. All of them were on the same side, yet they divided and fought."

"What if four of these are the NCR squad?"

"Do you see any armored corpses with assault rifles?"

Cassidy scanned the room. Reluctantly, she answered, "No."

"Then we haven't found them."

Sighing, Cassidy stepped back and allowed the Courier to take point once again. "You've got some pretty fucking weird standards, you know that? Building a potential doomsday machine is A-O-Kay, but looting a few corpses is a no-no?"

The Courier began to move on. "You have your quirks, and I have mine."

While stepping around the remains of the vault dwellers, they began their slow walk through the remaining length of hallway. They were soon confronted by the overseer's office. Both stared in shock at the bottom half of an arm lying in front of the opened door. Caked in dried blood, a carcass wearing NCR Trooper Armor with its right hand on a Marksman Carbine and the bottom half of its left arm missing was leaning against the wall inside the overseer's office.

Having found her voice, Cassidy asked, "I'm guessing we've found one of our guys?"

The Courier stepped over the arm and its respective owner. "Without a doubt. The Trooper Armor and carbine are standard issue in the NCR. But that doesn't explain where the other three are."

Cassidy sidled by the Courier, who had knelt to examine the corpse, and entered the office. "I think this killed him," she said as she set her Hunting Rifle down.

The Courier looked behind to see Cassidy looking at a shotgun that had been rigged to a table standing to the right of the door. "A trap? In the overseer's office?"

Cassidy examined the barrel of the shotgun. "A twelve gauge… Yeah, it makes sense. Point-blank in the left arm. That would definitely take it off."

The Courier examined the break in the left arm. Buckshot was embedded in the bone and decayed flesh. "Looks like he bled out, which doesn't make any sense. He was with a squad; one of them must have had some medical supplies."

Cassidy asked, "What about the other three?"

The Courier began to search the corpse. "They must have broken formation and split up, leaving this guy to the Admin section while they did something else." A strange metal box was strapped to the corpse's right shoulder. The Courier detached it and examined the strange device. The Courier removed a holotape from the box.

"Wait a minute." Cassidy asked, "I thought only Pip-boys could use those. Why does he have one if he doesn't have a Pip-boy?"

"It must be some sort of mission-log. Something to record their encounter with the vault." The Courier pondered. "Maybe friendly fire. They could use this to figure out if it was accidental or intentional. Perhaps something along those lines."

The Courier inserted the holotape into the Pip-boy and began to play the message. The sound of fumbling and static was heard, followed by a man laughing.

"Check it out, I am the ULTIMATE bad ass! You do NOT wanna fuck with me!" The man continued laughing.

A second man responded, "Knock it off, Hudson. Davis will see you and haul all of our asses off to toilet duty. Crap, why can't we have some shade around here? Is the sun always this hot? And where the hell is Davis?"

A third man that sounded very close to the mic said, "Davis always was a bit tardy."

The second man asked in slight annoyance, "Winter, what the hell are doing?"

That third man, presumably Winter, replied in a reassuring tone, "Just setting up my recording device, Michael. No need to get your panties in a bundle."

"And why the hell do you have a 'recording device'?"

"In case a certain someone tries to blow everything, which I said on our mission, out of proportion in front of Major Reed."

Hudson interjected. "Maybe if you weren't such an asshole to the civvies, he wouldn't have framed you like that."

Winter sighed. "For the millionth time, Hudson, I was just following orders. Nobody gets into the armory? Alright, nobody will get into the armory."

Michael scoffed and replied in a mocking tone, "Winter, under no circumstances are you to allow a mother and her daughter to seek shelter in this armory during an artillery bombardment! Do! You! Understand?"

Winter raised his voice, "They were too well-equipped to be civilians! Had I let them in, they may have sabotaged our entire arsenal!"

Hudson spoke in a resentful tone, "It's not just that, Winter. Everyone knows that you kinda have a reputation for being this cold, heartless jerk. For God's sake, what about that time you refused to give a stimpack our own sergeant, MY girlfriend?"

"We were low on medical supplies, Hudson. You should know, you were there! It was either use the rest on her or save it for an injury that was actually life-threatening!"

The sound of a door opening, followed by someone walking were heard. Michael said, "Ten-hut!"

A female responded, "At ease, men. Michael, equipment check."

Michael responded, "Ma'am, carbines are locked and loaded. Flamethrower's fueled and ready. And we've been baking in this sun for about twenty minutes."

"Cry me a river, Michael. Alright everyone, gather 'round! Hudson, you're on flamer duty. Any bugs get in the way, torch 'em. Michael, you and I will support. Winter, you'll be taking Point when we get to the vault."

Winter protested. "But ma'am, my expertise is in medicine!"

It sounded like the woman was right in Winter's face. "Don't worry, Winter. If you get a 'non-life-threatening' wound, I'll be sure to NOT provide the proper medical aid! My leg still has a nasty scar from that bark-scorpion sting."

"Ma'am, it wasn't a lethal wound. My medical supplies were low and our mission parameters CLEARLY stated no use of stimpacks unless-"

"Winter, when I give you an order to give me a damned stimpack", the woman raised her

voice, "Give me the God-damned stimpack! I'll deal with the consequences of MY own orders! Do I make myself clear?"

Winter reluctantly replied, "Crystal."

"Good. Alright, men! Move out!"

The courier fast forwarded the holotape to the next jump in audio levels. Hudson's voice was heard over the sound of their walking. "Paige, what's this mission we got? One minute we're toilet scrubbing, next we're goin' on some sort ah secret vault mission. Major Reed said, and I quote, 'Sergeant Davis will fill you in.'"

Sergeant Davis replied, "Hudson, when we're talking off record, you can call me whatever that peanut-sized brain of yours can think of. But we're on duty and you WILL address me properly. Understand?"

Hudson chuckled, "Yes ma'am, commander ma'am."

Sergeant Davis sighed in exasperation. "Vasquez always asks me what I see in you. And quite frankly, I don't really know."

It sounded like Hudson was going to say something in response, but Michael cut him off. "Ma'am, personal relationships aside, what IS this mission?"

Sergeant Davis answered, "This'll be a twelve mile hike, round trip. We go in, secure the vault, come back, get the salvage team, go back, let them pick the place clean, and come back home."

Hudson asked, "And do we really need the big-ass flamethrower that weighs thirty something pounds to kill some bugs?"

"You wasted too much carbine ammo last time you had to kill some bugs. If a canister or two of flamer fuel will do the job, then that's what you get, Hudson."

Winter spoke up, "Ma'am, do you know anything about the vau-"

Sergeant Davis cut him off. "Winter, get this through your thick skull: I. Don't. Like. You. Nobody. Likes. You. You will speak when spoken too, and only if I'm the one doing the speaking. And I'd better only hear 'yes ma'am' coming from you. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good, now shut the hell up."

The Courier fast forwarded the holotape again and resumed playing at the third jump in audio levels. The sound of a flamethrower and high-pitched screeches of dying bark-scorpions were heard. Hudson was either flipping out or breaking down.

The flamethrower's sound frequently interrupted Hudson. "Die motherfucker! Die motherfucker!"

Michael shouted in a panicked tone, "Jesus Christ, what is wrong with him?"

Sergeant Davis was trying to restrain him. "Hudsooon! HUDSOOOOOON!"

Hudson seemed oblivious to the woman's shouting. "Motherfucker!" The flamethrower still roared. "C'mon! C'mon! Come get it, baby! C'mon, I don't got all day, c'mon!" High-pitched shrieks and the roar of the flamethrower continued. "C'mon you bastards! C'mon, you too! Oh you want some of this- fuck you!"

A loud 'crack' was heard, followed by the sound of a metallic object and a larger mass hitting the ground. The flamethrower had stopped, and Hudson began moaning in pain.

After a short pause, Michael asked in shock, "Winter, what the hell are you doin'?"

Winter calmly answered. "He was armed with an Incinerator and could have set us all on fire, had he been allowed to continue his tantrum."

Michael sounded angry now. "Winter, your carbine isn't a bat, and Hudson's head ISN'T a God-damned baseball!"

Winter remained calm. "He's fine physically. A minor concussion, but he's more than able to continue the mission."

Michael asked in frustration, "Serge, aren't you gonna to do something?"

Hudson had begun to grumble swearwords. Sergeant Davis finally spoke. "C'mon, Hudson, get up."

Hudson mumbled, "Ow, head hurts. Head hurts. Who? Ergh. What happened?"

Sergeant Davis addressed Winter in a passive aggressive tone. "Winter, give him a stimpack."

"Bu- yes, ma'am." Some straps were undone, and metal clanked. "Here, Hudson, be still… hold your arm out… There, you're good now."

"And you will surrender all of you medical supplies to me."

Winter was silent.

Sergeant Davis warned, "Winter. Now."

The sound of a belt unbuckling was heard, followed by Davis snatching it out of Winter's hand.

Sergeant Davis sneered. "Good, now get your ass inside that vault. Michael, make sure he doesn't screw anything up." It sounded like she sighed in relief. "Hudson, take your time. You need another stimpack?"

Hudson grumbled, "No, no, I'll be fine. Urgh, what happened?"

Sergeant Davis replied, "It's not important, Hudson. Just take it easy right now and rela- "

Their voices grew quieter as Winter and Michael entered the vault. Neither spoke as they were greeted by the four corpses.

"Winter, can you tell what killed them?" Michael asked.

Winter answered in a cold and resentful tone, "I don't have my medical equipment anymore, Michael, remember?"

The Courier fast forwarded to the last jump in audio levels.

Winter's screaming echoed throughout the vault corridor, Michael and Hudson were panicking, and Sergeant Davis was silent.

"What the hell are we suppose to do?" Michael shouted in fear.

"How the hell am I suppose to know?" Hudson screamed back. "Um, uh, medic! We need a med-"

Michael interrupted, "He IS the medic you screw ball!"

Hudson shouted back, "So what the fuck do we do, man? He's gonna bleed out if we don't think of something!"

Winter's screaming had been reduced to pained hyperventilating.

"WELL?" Hudson shouted, "What do we do?"

"Give him a stimpack!" Michael shouted.

Hudson screamed back, "His arm is GONE, Michael! A little needle isn't going to fix a God-damned MISSING ARM!"

Winter was barely breathing. He murmured, "Leather belt. Surgical Tubing. Stop… the…"

Silence filled the vault.

"Ma'am," Michael finally spoke up after a few minutes. "What do we do?"

Sergeant Davis took a deep breath and answered, "Check the overseer's terminal."

A curt "Yes, ma'am" was Michael's response. Some foot steps and typing were heard.

The typing stopped abruptly as Michael tried to talk, dumbstruck, unable to formulate his words.

Sergeant Davis asked, "What? What's wrong, Michael?"

"What the fuck?" Hudson asked, his voice still shaken by Winter's death.

Sergeant Davis muttered in disbelief, "Sacrificial… chamber?"

The sound of mechanical parts began moving, screeching after years of rusting over.

"Get back! Get back!" Sergeant Davis yelled. The sound of something mechanical still rearranging as the three soldiers scrambled back.

Silence filled the room as the mechanical parts stopped moving.

Sergeant Davis spoke first. "Let's go."

Michael stuttered in disbelief, "Wh-what?"

Hudson spoke up, "I aint goin' in no sacrificial chamber, Paige!"

"You're an NCR soldier, Hudson, trained for any situation. You'll be fine."

"Yes… ma'am."

"Just like that?" Michael sputtered, "A few 'kind' words and you'll follow her into a God-damned SACRIFICIAL CHAMBER? Winter just DIED and you want us to CONTINUE this parade through this Godforsaken place?"

"You have two choices, Michael." Sergeant Davis responded, "Be killed for desertion or help me secure this vault so we can all go home." It sounded like she jumped into a ditch and called up, "You know the protocol, Michael. All areas of the vault must be secured."

Two more "thuds" were heard followed by Michael asking, "Can't we just bury him first? I mean it's not like-"

He was cut off by the sound of something mechanical rearranging itself again.

"Out! Out! Out!" Sergeant Davis yelled.

"What the fuck?!" Hudson screamed.

"Stay back! Don't let it crush you!" Michael shouted as the mechanical noises stopped.

The mic picked up some muffled shouting followed by the sound of carbines being fired. After a few minutes, the barrage let up, followed by silence once again.

The Courier stopped the recording device. Cassidy had sat down next to Winter's remains. The Courier had leaned against the door entrance.

"Well, shit." Cassidy muttered.

The Courier stood tall once again, despite the fowl odor that Winter's corpse was producing and trudged over to the overseer's desk, a decayed wooden arc with a flat top and a single terminal atop. The Courier activated the terminal, revealing the command to open the sacrificial chamber. With the press of a button, the Courier stood back as the familiar sound that they had heard from Winter's recorder, the sound of "mechanical parts rearranging", was now heard in person. The decayed desk rose from the ground on metal columns, revealing ametal staircase that led to an underground tunnel about six feet wide and eight feet deep.

Leaving what was left of the Evan Zinger Ale next to Winter, Cassidy rose to rejoin her companion. "Please tell me you're NOT going down there." She said with concern.

"Yes, I am. This ends now. Stay here if you want, but I'm shutting this thing down."

"But the desk! It closes automatically! How are you going to get out?"

The Courier produced four packs of C4 and stuck two of them to the desk.

Cassidy groaned. "You're crazy."

"You might want to get out of this room."

Cassidy grabbed Winter's dog tags and quickly exited the overseer's office. "We could have avoided all of this if we just drank our lives away at the Lucky 38 or lived happily-ever-after in Zion! But nooooooooo! We have to go wandering the wasteland, looking for slavers and sacrificial cham-"

The Courier ran out of the office as the door closed. "Cover your ears."

Cassidy jammed her fingers into her ears just before an ear-piercing explosion rocked the corridor.

The door opened the door to reveal a smoldering pile that was once the desk. Winter's body had painted the walls with a fresh coat of red paint, and his carbine had been blown to pieces.

The Courier jumped down into the tunnel and called up to Cassidy, "Are you staying?"

She jumped down next to the Courier. "Someone has to pull your ass out of the fire when your plan goes to hell. Besides," she added reluctantly, "I wouldn't exactly feel comfortable waiting with Winter's mural staring at me." She looked at the remains of her Hunting Rifle, which she had apparently forgotten to take with her. "Goddamn it."

The Courier turned around and began walking down the tunnel. It appeared to stretch for about 40 feet, before another metal door stopped it. "We've got at least a hundred more in every base. You'll be fine."

A suspiciously happy man's voice welcomed them. "Congratulations, marauder, your fantastic journey is only just beginning! Please, proceed to the light!" A yellow light suddenly lit up the door at the end of the tunnel. The two cautiously continued down the hallway, weapons drawn.

They entered the sacrificial chamber. It was a square room about twenty feet wide and twenty feet long, with a ceiling projector and a red chair in the middle. Dried blood smeared the rusted, metal floor. A projector screen took up all of the wall across from the door, which suddenly closed behind them as they entered the room. "Welcome," said the automated voice, "Please, sit in the chair. The show is about to begin."

"You can get this door open, right?" Cassidy asked in a slightly panicked tone.

The Courier ran a hand over the door. "I still have two C4 packs; it shouldn't be a problem. But they had to keep using this room." The Courier turned around and slowly walked along the left wall. "The door probably opens after the 'sacrifice' is made."

The automated voice said in a happy tone, "You cannot escape. Sit in the chair."

"Christ, that's creepy." Cassidy shuttered. "You're not going to sit, are you?"

"Look at the floor." The Courier said, ignoring her question.

Cassidy looked down to see some smear blood being 'drawn' towards the walls, which were practically spotless. She also noticed that something resembling tire tracks made their mark in the dried blood.

The Courier thought aloud, "These tire tracks, it looks like they belong to securitrons."

Cassidy had knelt down to examine them. "How can you tell?"

"They're about a foot thick, which is the design for the Securitron Mark I, and that would explain why there aren't any bodies. They could cart them off to somewhere else."

"But where would you put a big stack of sacrifices?" Cassidy asked.

The automated voice repeated, "You cannot escape. Sit in the chair."

The Courier took out an Assault Carbine and swapped its magazine. "I don't know. Do you have any armor-piercing rounds?"

Cassidy held up her Sturdy Caravan Shotgun. "I usually let you do the shooting, remember?"

The Courier sighed and handed the rifle to her, along with some extra magazine clips. "Armor-piercing rounds are more effective against machines." The Courier pulled out the Q35 Matter Modulator. "I'll use this. Now get ready. Judging from the directions the blood draws away, I'm guessing that whatever does the sacrificing is behind these walls."

Cassidy stood back against the door, as the Courier sat in the chair; the projector powered on, and the 'sacrifice' began.

"Greetings, marauder, if you are watching this, it means that you have been offered up as a sacrifice, so that your vault can continue to thrive." A cartoon beachside sunset was projected. "Right now you may be feeling sad… or angry. Perhaps you never got to have grandkids, or to enjoy the pleasures of a newly recycled, one-of-a-kind cigar. But march with your chin held high, soldier. And remember that each of us has an important role to play."

The projector produced a cartoon picture of a man pushing a boy on a bicycle. "For some, it might be to heal people. For others, it might be for them to drive a racecar. Or fly a rocket ship. And some of us are meant to forfeit our lives for the good of the people. Sure, it might not be as fun as driving a racecar, but it's every bit important. Let's take a moment to reflect on the moments that made your life worth living."

The projector switched to a cartoon picture of a little boy swinging on a swing set. "Think about that time you kissed your girlfriend for the first time under the bleachers at the big game. Or that time when you snuck out past your curfew to watch that new flick that your parents said you couldn't go to because it was too scary. Boy were they right. And what about that time you met the love of your life. What a looker."

The picture switched to a cartoon picture of a man and woman holding hands with a little boy and girl. "Do you feel that warm feeling in your chest as you think of these things? Good. What you are feeling is peace. You've led a great life. Living it has been its own reward. But, it is only the beginning." The projector switched to a cartoon picture of a man resting against an apple tree. "Close your eyes now, and imagine what joys await you in the next life, the afterlife. Can you see them? Good."

The screen went black as the projector shut off. Mechanical noises were heard behind the spotless walls, the walls that suddenly slid away from view to reveal grey, metal double doors that started to open up.

The Courier jumped up and turned over the chair for cover, aiming the unique energy weapon at the doors on Cassidy's left. "Short, controlled bursts!"

Cassidy raised her Assault Carbine at the doors on her right. In perfect sync, the doors opened to reveal five TV headed, vacuum tube-armed, unicycle tire Securitron Mark Ones on the left side and six on the right side.

The Courier's instincts kicked in. The Securitron on the far left was rolling ahead, out of Formation. Two shots, it went down. Almost instantaneously, a force of lasers from the front and back rained down on the Courier but was barely felt. Power Armor absorbed damage like a sponge. The other four on the Courier's side were advancing; another two shots and the one to the right of the fallen Securitron blew up, causing the one in the middle to collapsed. Two more, getting close. The Courier fired three more Optimized Plasma blasts, putting another one down.

CLANG!

The last Securitron was upon the Courier and back-handed the Plasma Rifle skidding across the room. It pointed its laser cannon right at the Courier's helmet.

On Cassidy's side, the six Securitrons rolled out, their weapons aimed at her companion's back. A burst of five shots, and the one in the center went down. None of them were shooting at her. Another eight bullets and two more went down. One finally did turn its laser canon at her torso and fired.

The burst of lasers burned through her clothing and skin. She didn't feel it; the adrenaline kept her going; another burst of bullets and it went down, followed by a fifth one that got caught by her spray of bullets and tripped over the third one's mechanical frame. One left, she aimed the Assault Carbine.

Click

Almost instinctually, she threw down the carbine. No time to reload. She yanked her shotgun on her back out of its strap and brought it up to her shoulder, lined up the shot, and fired. The magnum round blew a hole through its TV screen head, and sent it sprawling back.

The sound of a "CLANG" broker her concentration. Lowering her shotgun, she saw her companion's weapon skid across the floor. She spun, raising her shotgun again, saw the Securitron raising its laser canon to the Courier's helmet, lined up the sight, and promptly sent the machine flying back.

The Courier was about to put a Superheated Saturnite Fist through the Securitron's TV head, but Cassidy's shotgun proved to be more effective.

"Thanks." The Courier stood and retrieved the one-of-a-kind Plasma Rifle.

Cassidy administered a stimpack to tend to her wounds. "I told you someone had to be here to pull your ass out of the fire when your plant went to-" She was interrupted by a horrid odor that overwhelmed her sense of smell. "Oh wow." She muttered as she strapped the Caravan shotgun onto her back and covered her face with her hands.

The Courier stood up looked around. The two rooms that the Securitrons had been hiding in revealed two things: The vault's mainframe, a silver colored box as tall as the ceiling and with auxiliary power keeping it online; and piles of skeletons.

Some were old, reduced to bone and shreds of clothing; others were still in the process of decaying, fleshing rotting and skin partially shredded and burned from the laser canons that the Secuitrons had used to kill them with.

"Christ, how many people died like this?" Cassidy asked, her hands still covering her mouth. "And why aren't you smelling that?"

"This Power Armor has air filters." The Courier replied, while looking at three corpses that had been crammed into another pile of the recently deceased, corpses who donned the tattered remains of Trooper Armor that had been burned away, corpses who wore the dog tags 'Sergeant Paige Davis', 'Private Weaver Hudson', and 'Private Drake Michael'.

The Courier focused on the mainframe. With the push of a button, a keyboard unfolded from the gigantic metal computer, and a panel slid back to reveal a screen above said keyboard. The interface revealed a series of documents titled, "Message for vault dwellers", "Sudden decline in population", "EVI used", and "Automated Response".

"Dear Dwellers of Vault 11," the Courier read aloud, "You will find that the door of your vault is locked. Any and all attempts to open the door to the outside will result in the immediate termination of all vault dwellers. The overseer will also have to enter into the Sacrificial Chamber after his or her one-year-term is up and the next overseer has been elected. If a sacrifice is not made once every 365 days, the vault's mainframe will terminate all vault dwellers."

"What kind of sick, twisted person does that?" Cassidy asked in shock, tearing off a part of her shirt to use as a makeshift filter.

The Courier replied grimly, "Vault-Tec."

The Courier selected the document titled, "Sudden decline in population", and began to read aloud, "Two-hundred and twenty-three organic signatures accounted for at Year: 134, Day: 352, Hour: 13:37. Gunshots detected in Cafeteria at Year: 134, Day: 352, Hour: 14:46. Gunshots detected in Justice Bloc, Freedom Bloc, Liberty Bloc, Agricultural Wing, Reservoir, and Recycling Station at Year: 134, Day: 353, Hour: 03:09. Gunshots ceased in previously stated zones at Year: 134, Day: 354, Hour: 19:21. Four organic signatures accounted for at Year: 134, Day: 354, Hour: 13:22."

"Four?" Cassidy asked in disbelief. "Four out of two-hundred and twenty-three?"

"The holotape in the medical bay," the Courier observed. "They were talking about arming up and forcing the overseer to withdraw Act 745, which replaced voting for the next overseer with randomly picking someone to be the sacrifice."

"And the medical records saying that the two guys were shot by security in the cafeteria." Cassidy added.

"They started a war over what method people would be chosen to die?" The Courier asked in disappointment.

"Emergency Vault Interface activated on Year:134, Day:354, Hour: 15:41. Voice recognitions: Brian Anderson, Anna Thomas, Stephen Dillard, and Preston Modesto." The Courier pressed a button and the voice of the first man that they had heard, at the very beginning of the vault, was speaking.

"Alright, I know you can hear us so listen up. There's four of us left. Four out of… I don't know how many. So it's over. We've talked and it's over. We're not going to send anybody to die anymore. So shut off our water or do whatever it is you're programmed to do."

"Automated response," the Courier read aloud and played the message.

"Congratulations, dwellers of vault 11. You have made the decision not to sacrifice one of your own. You can walk with your head held high, knowing that your commitment to human life is a shining example to us all. And to make that feeling of pride even sweeter, I have some exciting news. Despite what you were led to believe, the population of vault 11 is not going to be exterminated for its disobedience. Instead, the mechanism to open the vault door has now been enabled. And you can come and go at your leisure. But not so fast, be sure to check with your overseer to find out if it's safe to leave. Here at Vault-Tec, your safety is our number one priority."

Silence filled the vault. After a brief moment, the Courier opened up the keyboard, and connected a few wires to the Pimp-Boy. The Stealth Suit being worn underneath the Power Armor kindly notified her wearer that the download was complete.

The Courier walked over to the door, placed a C4 pack on it, and quickly ran back into the side room with the mainframe. Cassidy, realizing her companion's intentions, immediately followed suit.

"Cover your-"

"Yeah, I get the jist of it, Michael Bay!"

"Who's-" The Courier was cut off by the C4 detonating and was quickly knocked to the ground alongside Cassidy.

Cassidy rose to her feet; the door had been blown to pieces. She dusted herself off and offered a hand to the Courier.

Accepting her offer of assistance, the Courier rose and extended to her a bottle of fresh water. "I know you prefer alcohol, but you've had so much that you don't seem to notice your stomach has third-degree burns. When we get back into Boulder City, we need to get you some bandages."

Cassidy took the bottle and began walking down the hallway. "You can apologize by dropping me off at the Lucky 38 and lending me a few thousand caps for booze."

"Tempting, but no. First we get you patched up. And if anything, you owe ME for breaking MY Assault Carbine." The Courier trudged over and retrieved the metallic machine. Its barrel was completely mangled. "Really, did you have to THROW it at the floor?"

Cassidy slapped her hand on the Courier's armored shoulder. "Look on the bright side: At least we didn't end up like the rest of these poor bastards." 

They were back-tracking through the vault, passing by the cafeteria and medical bay, back out into the entrance, where they met the corpses of Brian Anderson, Anna Thomas, Stephen Dillard, and Preston Modesto. The duet stepped outside of the vault, re-entering the cave that marked the entrance and walked by the faint remains of the bark-scorpions that Hudson had burned to a crisp.

The Courier stood back and took it all in. A vault that had trapped its dwellers and forced them to sacrifice their annual overseer, so that the others could live to vote on who would become the next overseer, the next sacrifice. The Courier and Cassidy were living in the year 2083. Why did it say one-hundred and thirty-four years? One hundred and thirty-four people were sent to their deaths? And it wasn't even necessary?

"How many vaults were like that?"

"You okay?" Cassidy asked out of concern.

The Courier took one last look at the vault, before answering Cassidy. "Yeah, I'm fine."

They started walking back to Boulder City, traveling the same highway that they came from. This time, however, Cassidy leaned on the Courier.

"So what happens now?" Cassidy asked as she eagerly accepted another water bottle to dowse her wounds.

"First, we're getting you patched up." The Courier answered, observing the burned flesh on Cassidy's stomach. "Then when we get back to base, I'm getting you some armor."

"Lovely," Cassidy groaned. "Nothing like sitting around on my ass, waiting for a burn to heal up."

"If you don't show signs of infection, you can start making the rounds with my Securitrons again."

Cassidy scoffed. "Never thought I'd be running a caravan of Securitrons."

The Courier offered, "What if I promise to take you back to Zion before the year's end?"

Laughing, Cassidy jumped into her companion's arms. "You're the best caravan partner a girl could ask for!"

The End

**Author's Note:**

> There is a sequel in the works. The Courier and Boone will be journeying to Vault 22 for the "There Stands the Grass" quest!


End file.
